Stirling than that man. He is coming back."

Bart thought this, for, just about to round the end of a dead freight
and cross to the public street, his late visitor turned abruptly.

He did not, however, retrace his steps. Instead, he came to the
strangest rigid pose Bart had ever seen a human being assume.

He stood staring, spellbound, at the partly open door of the nearest
freight car. His cane had fallen from his hand, his head was thrown up
as if he had been struck a stunning blow under the chin, and even at the
distance he was, Bart could see that his usually red-puffed face was the
color of chalk. Almost immediately, through the open doorway space of
the freight car an arm was protruded.

Its index finger was pointed, inflexible as an iron rod, directly at the
colonel. It fascinated and transfixed the military man, and Bart
Stirling, staring also at the strange tableau, was overcome with
perplexity and mystification.




CHAPTER X

QUEER COMRADES


So many sensational occurrences had marked the last twenty-four hours of
Bart Stirling's career, that it seemed as though the accumulating series